


A Telling Nightmare

by MesTiel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, God I love Cullen, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MesTiel/pseuds/MesTiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean fell into bed exhausted that night, the day's events and consistently poor sleep taking a heavy toll. However short hours later he again shot up in bed, growling in frustration as his groggy mind worked to clear the vision of Cullen's wide, dead eyes staring up at him from where he lay on the ground."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Telling Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Maker save me, I am obsessed with Cullen.
> 
> The premise will sound familiar if you've sided with the Templars and went to Therinfal. I hope you enjoy!

Dean Trevelyan was having the dream again.

Ever since that blasted fade stint at Therinfal Redoubt, Dean's nights have been plagued by the same scene of Cullen quietly collapsing as blood gushed from his slit throat. At the time, Dean found himself incredulous at the Envy demon's choice of tricks. Why had the image of Cullen, out of all the possibilities from his life, been chosen for this gruesome display? In reality the two men had barely formed the basics of a cordial working relationship during their time at Haven.

And now Dean found himself gasping in bed, groaning as he came to his senses. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a weary arm, the image of Cullen's complacent face and that gleaming knife still burned in his mind's eye. This nightmare marked the seventh in a row, faithfully plaguing him each night since Therinfal.

Dean knew all hope of sleep was lost for the night, so he willed his weary body out of bed and made his way toward a small desk in the corner of his room. He lit a candle and spared a moment to glance at his reflection in the room's lone mirror. Amber eyes he was secretly proud of were now bloodshot, and his thick brown hair stood at all angles. Herald of Andraste, indeed.

Pulling up a chair, Dean sat heavily at the desk and began pouring over the various reports piled there. His eyes stinging with sleep deprivation, he made himself focus and read every one. Scouts missing, repairs needed, agents to be acquired, and mostly panic caused by numerous smaller rifts appearing across the lands – the work yet to be done was endless. Still, by sunrise Dean managed to formulate a detailed and time-efficient plan for the next coming days that would strengthen their little Inquisition enough to initiate the attempt at closing the big bad breach with some measure of confidence.

He must have dozed off again despite himself, as he found himself waking to a hand on his shoulder.

“I am sorry to wake you, my Lord,” Josephine stared down at him sheepishly. “You are needed in the War Room.”

“Yes, of course,” Dean replied, wincing inwardly at the highly formal manner that she and indeed most of his unlikely companions had chosen to adopt. He stood and followed her, willing himself to appear more refreshed than he felt. No one would benefit from any displays of weakness, not until the breach was closed and this Herald business was long forgotten.

“There you are,” Cassandra said by way of greeting once they walked through the War Room double doors. “We have... a situation.”

“Alright, give it to me,” Dean urged, making his way toward the center of the closest table side. He made eye contact with Cullen who nodded across from him. The sight of the man invoked an odd sense of foreboding, manifesting itself in the form of shivers down his spine.

“It's the Templars,” Cassandra continued, irritation thickening her voice. “They have decided to be difficult.”

“They are harassing the few mages we have here at Haven.” Leliana spoke with even less patience than Cassandra. She was more sympathetic toward mages than the rest – something that Dean was grateful for, as a mage himself. “They blame mages for the explosion at the Conclave, and are treating any they come across – save for you – with unwarranted suspicion.”

“Ah.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He remembered clearly one such (ex) Templar sauntering up to Cassandra and blatantly demanding permission to kill some of the mages. 

“Thoughts, Herald?” Cullen joined in. “This was, after all, your doing.”

Incredulous, Dean gaped at him. “You are blaming me? This was _your_ idea!” He thought back on Cullen's argument in support of the Templars back when this was still a debate, still a choice to be made. Cullen had said that the Templars might (maybe, possibly) be able to help by using their abilities to suppress magic, and for some reason that half-baked logic seemed to be enough for Dean at the time.

Now, he wasn't so sure he'd made the right decision.

“My idea was to ally with the Templars,” Cullen hissed, “not disband the order! They're leaderless now, with no identity. Of course they're acting out.”

“Oh, so _now_ we have an excuse for the typical and abusive behavior that the order has become known for?” Dean shot back, riled. 

Cullen crossed his arms. “Meaning?”

“Gentlemen, perhaps we should-” 

Josephine's diplomatic attempt at disruption went unnoticed. “Don't play stupid with me, Commander. You know as well as anyone that the Templars have long since become corrupt beyond saving-”

“Herald-” Cassandra warned.

“-and that disbanding the order and reshaping it for the Inquisition's purposes is the only option, if we are to have these people here at all.” Both men now had their hands splayed on the table, aggressively leaning toward one another. 

“Why, then?” Cullen demanded. “Why not attempt to gain support from the mages instead? You didn't even try!”

In the silence that followed, Dean found himself unable to answer that question, nor deny the accusation.

Leliana cleared her throat, the sudden sound seeming louder than it was. “Commander, perhaps you could be this new group's leader. Guide them, reshape them. Give them ground rules they can understand.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Josephine, likely pleased to be back in the conversation. “Perhaps proper integration with the troops we already have will help. They could even assist you with training.”

“Right,” Cullen said, crossing his arms across his chest once more. “Cleaning up the Herald's mess – shall I start getting used to this?”

That stung. “I don't have time for this,” Dean announced, turning and leaving through the grand doors, Cassandra at his heels after a beat.

“Wait,” she said, walking quickly to keep pace beside him. Once they were outside, she grabbed his arm and made him stop. “Don't get upset.”

“What got into him?” Dean carded agitated fingers through his hair, realizing that he likely still had his bed-hair this entire time.

“That's the thing,” Cassandra placated. “Something _did_ get into him. He's not usually like this.” She released his arm in favor of patting his shoulder. “He'll come round.”

“Thanks,” he said, and meant it. He was growing fond of this woman. She had a good head on her shoulders and in reality was far from the tyrannical maniac that Varric sometimes made her out to be.

As if to punctuate that thought, she even smiled. “Any time.”

* * *

Dean took Cassandra along with Sera and Solas to the Hinterlands for the day. They finished work on a few promised watchtowers, acquired an agent from Redcliffe, closed a rift, and cleared out a Venatori mage camp in the area. He would never get used to fighting his own “kind,” no matter how corrupt they were. Their deaths added to the constant weight that these days made a home on his shoulders.

Dean fell into bed exhausted that night, the day's events and consistently poor sleep taking a heavy toll. However short hours later he again shot up in bed, growling in frustration as his groggy mind worked to clear the vision of Cullen's wide, dead eyes staring up at him from where he lay on the ground.

Attempting sleep now fruitless, Dean settled for a walk along the grounds. The crisp air soothed him, despite the sharp chill coming from the mountains.

“Lord Trevelyan!” a voice called out to him across the darkness, its owner jogging to catch up at his side.

“Commander,” Dean greeted, surprised to see the man at this hour.

“Couldn't sleep either?” Cullen asked, one hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck as he kept pace alongside Dean.

“Something like that.” Dean wondered briefly if he should divulge the potentially awkward topic of his nightmares but quickly thought better of it. Perhaps he could ask Solas about it later.

Dean walked through the gates of Haven and along a well worn path through snow-covered trees. Cullen kept at his side, not saying a word for some time. It wasn't until they stopped at the end of the path, where it morphed into the beginnings of a rocky mountainous slope, that he spoke.

“I ah,” Cullen began, hand again nervously rubbing at his neck. He had been looking at the ground but now met Dean's eyes. “I wanted to say – that is, I just...”

Dean sighed. “Commander-”

“I am sorry,” Cullen said, his tone urgent and honest. “That display – was unworthy of me. Our situation got the best of me yesterday. It won't happen again.” Finished, Cullen stood staring as if waiting for orders.

“It's alright,” Dean said, experimenting with a small smile. He was glad to see it returned. “These are trying times for us all. I too apologize, for letting my temper get the best of me back there.”

“To a second chance,” Cullen said, offering a gloved hand. Dean took it and they shook once, the tension dissipating easily.

In the weeks that followed, the nightmares continued relentlessly. They were always the same. Always the vacant eyes, the silent stillness drenched in blood. There were nights when Dean woke screaming, not out of fear but out of anger – why didn't Cullen just _fight back_? Why did he stand there with his wide brown eyes and just allow the dagger to slit his throat?

However it was some time before Dean had a chance to speak with Cullen again for more than a moment, and that time came when he begged him for a plan – any plan – to save the people of Haven. Just when it seemed victory was at hand with the close of the main breach, their little town began to burn.

Once the army of Venatori were defeated and most of the townsfolk successfully hoarded into the Chantry, Dean found himself in an argument with Cullen yet again.

“I said, go!” Dean shouted for the tenth time, pointing toward the passageway. “You're no good to me dead. You must lead these people to safety!”

“I can fight!” Cullen protested. “I want to fight that monster – I cannot just run away with everyone else!”

“No. Out of the question.” Dean knew he was treading a fine line here, assuming undeserved command in the heat of the moment. “Go. That's an order.”

Cullen glared, momentarily taken aback. “What about you?” he finally pressed. “What of your escape?”

Dean almost told him he'll be fine – an automatic response that he immediately realized wouldn't fly here. “I'll make him work for it,” he promised instead.

* * *

The first night at Skyhold, the dream changed.

Cullen stood quietly as before, but now the form of Calpernia materialized behind him. She placed slender fingers against his skull, gently as if to caress. Then, red wisps of magic flowed through her fingertips and into Cullen's skull. The previously complacent Commander gasped in shock, eyes widening with horror.

“No!” Cullen screamed, though he stood still as if bound and unable to move. “Get out of my head!” 

But Calpernia only smiled, increasing the magic from her hands. Soon Cullen dropped to his knees, brown eyes beseeching, tears forming as he begged for it to end.

“I have an end for you,” Calpernia crooned. Dean stared on in horror as she removed one hand from the blond head and produced a sickeningly familiar knife. She bent to offer it to Cullen, who sobbed as he accepted it. “You know what to do.”

“Cullen!” Dean cried out, but his voice betrayed him and came out as a weak rasp. 

It was too late. Cullen stared at him through his tears as he brought the blade to his own throat, slicing deep into the flesh. As he crumpled to the ground, his sobs ceased and residual tears continued to fall from his dead unseeing eyes.

“CULLEN!” Dean found his voice as he violently threw himself out of bed. “CULLEN!” Disoriented, he forced himself to stop and think, hands tugging painfully at his hair. 

He was still familiarizing himself with Skyhold, but he made himself remember the shortest passage from his quarters to Cullen's. There was a door from Solas's odd room that led to the bridge connecting the main building to Cullen's tower.

Limbs heavy and breath shallow with fear, Dean hurled himself out of his chambers, down the hall, and barely registered Solas's incredulous stare as he flew past him and onto the bridge. He flung the tower door open without ceremony and stumbled inside.

Blood drained from his face. His eyes nearly refused to register the still form folded over the desk, unmoving.

“Cullen,” Dean breathed, running to close the distance. He grabbed feathered shoulders and yanked the man upright, Cullen's head lolling against the chair's back and exposing his neck. Repeating his name over and over, Dean shook him violently. Where was the blood? There must have been blood!

“Huh – hmmm?” 

“Cullen!” Dean wouldn't have ceased his shaking if the Commander hadn't suddenly leaped to his feet, tripping over a table leg in the confusion and taking Dean down with him. 

“Ow!” Cullen protested, head hitting the floor. Military training animating him faster than Dean, who was still sprawled on the floor, Cullen jumped to his feat and grabbed his sword from the desk. “Where are the demons!”

“Maker...” Dean groaned, head finally clearing and the realization of what's happened dawning on him in waves of embarrassment. He sat up gingerly, ignoring Cullen who was patrolling the small room in search of demons. After a moment he too seemed to snap out of it, hand rubbing at his neck as he stilled.

“What's happening?” Cullen demanded, offering his free hand to help Dean to his feet. “Are you alright, Inquisitor?”

“Fine,” Dean barked, hoping the low light hid the redness of his cheeks. 

“What's going on?”

“Nothing.” How could he begin to explain himself? _Oh hi Cullen, I dream about you every night and tonight I got my realities confused. Sorry about the rude awakening._

Though it felt undoubtedly good to see Cullen unharmed. The dream had been so _real_...

“Inquisitor?” Cullen pressed, his voice curious but soft.

“This was... a drill. Nothing more.” Dean flashed a toothy smile he hoped didn't look too frightening, and smacked Cullen on the shoulder a touch too hard. “You did marvelously, Commander. As you were!”

Tail between his legs, Dean escaped back to his own quarters with as much speed as he could muster without actually breaking into a run.

* * *

The next night, the same new nightmare plagued him. Cullen, sobbing, slitting his throat, a dead man's tears running down pale cheeks. 

Again Dean stumbled out of bed, running blindly, the dream too real – he had to make sure, he had to!

Slender fingers wrapped around his biceps just before he managed to hurl himself through the door leading to the bridge. 

“Inquisitor,” Solas hissed urgently in his ear, pulling him back and wrapping thin arms around his middle, using all his strength to still Dean. “Relax. It's alright!”

“No,” Dean protested automatically, even as his mind began to clear. 

“Yes,” Solas countered, manhandling him into a nearby chair. “Sit.”

His senses slowly returning, previously suppressed exhaustion hit Dean with full force. He slumped forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees and head in his hands. “Ughhh.”

Solas knelt delicately before him. “Is there something you wish to discuss?”

Dean felt weak, vulnerable. This was beyond unacceptable for someone of his position, but all the same... From what little he understood of Solas, he knew the elf would not judge him for this display. 

“I... have been having dreams,” he confessed after a moment. 

“I gathered as much,” Solas said, not unkindly.

“Horrible dreams.” Now the words poured freely. “And always about Cullen, about him dying. It's always been the exact same dream, but recently it's changed. It's worse, now.”

“When did these dreams start?”

“The night after we recruited the Templars at Therinfal, and every single night hence.”

“After the Envy demon pulled you into the Fade, correct?” 

Dean nodded in confirmation, and Solas stood to slowly pace nearby. “Are there other characters in this dream, other than Cullen?”

“Yes.” Dean rubbed his forehead at the unwelcome images flooding his mind. “At first, for many nights, there was Leliana. She slit Cullen's throat. It was not actually her, of course – this was the exact same scene the Envy demon played for me at Therinfal, on repeat. But now...” Dean paused to take a steadying breath. “Now it's the Venatori leader Calpernia, not Leliana. I'm not even sure if it's still supposed to be the Envy demon in this new form. The worst part is that Cullen... He kills himself, Solas. He does it himself.” That's all he managed to articulate before icy fear gripped his insides. Saying the words out loud in a way gave the dream validity. 

“This is not a mere dream,” Solas said. 

“What, then?”

“A premonition, perhaps.”

Dean felt sick. “Not exactly what I wanted to hear, Solas.”

“The dream itself changing bears significance, I am sure of it.” Solas paused, deep in thought. “I believe that is what we should investigate next. If we find the cause of the shift in the dream, we get closer to uncovering its meaning.”

“So... you'll help me?”

“Of course,” Solas said, almost affronted at the questioning tone.

“I don't know what to say. Just – thank you,” Dean said with gratitude, and he meant it.

* * *

Between his duties as Inquisitor and his nightly research sessions with Solas, Dean hardly found time for rest in the weeks that followed. However, every time his eyes wearily fell shut the nightmare came to meet him, terrifying in its loyalty. And every time, Dean stumbled blindly toward Cullen's tower.

He never made it past the Commander's door however, not after that first time. These days he managed to come to his senses by the time he reached Solas's room, though sometimes he would go as far as the bridge and sit on the hard stone, allowing the cold winter air to clear his mind.

Dean and Solas poured over countless reports, maps, any and all documents to try to find a connection. Dean hadn't confessed his nightmares to anyone save Solas, so it was no surprise when one day Leliana came to question him.

“Inquisitor, may I ask what you and Solas get up to these nights?” There was a cheeky glint in her eyes.

“Research.” It was true, anyway.

“Is that what the Trevelyans call it?” Now Leliana was positively grinning, and suddenly it clicked.

“Hang on, no! It's nothing like that. It's honestly just research.” Dean willed his facial coloration to remain neutral. “Solas agreed to assist me with something I'd hoped to keep to myself until we knew more.”

“Fair enough,” Leliana allowed, seemingly convinced though the glint remained. “It's just that Cassandra was asking, that's all.”

“Oh!” Dean exclaimed, actually caught by surprise. “Why would she be curious about this?”

“She likes you. Isn't it obvious?”

Dean thought for a moment. Since Haven, he hadn't really had a chance to spend one on one time with her despite her accompanying him on literally every mission out of Skyhold. In fact, outside of battle, he saw more of Cullen than he did her. Not allowing himself to embarrass himself in front of Cullen at night, Dean did stop by his tower on a daily basis under some premise of needing an update on the troops or some other vague matter. Seeing Cullen alive and well calmed him – he needed this daily ritual to keep his focus.

“Yes, well. Um. Thank you Leliana, that's all for now.” The woman took the dismissal graciously and left Dean to himself.

Mind made up, he decided to pay Cassandra a long overdo visit. Predictably, she was perched on a bench outside, reading one of her romance novels. Dean made a mental note to chase Varric up on the next installment of Swords and Shields he had promised to finish.

“Seeker,” he greeted amicably as Cassandra stood to meet him, this time not even attempting to hide the novel.

“Inquisitor. How may I help you?”

“Just thought I would see how you were doing. How many times have you read that book now?”

“Oh, only seven,” Cassandra said matter-of-factly. “I would have had time to read more if Leliana would stop pestering me about it.”

Dean saw the opportunity and jumped. “Speaking of – I just saw her a moment ago, and she said you were wondering about me and Solas?”

“Oh, Andraste preserve me!” Cassandra groaned, rolling her eyes. “She likes to make my life difficult. It's amusing for her, you see. Maybe she could team up with Varric!”

“So you were asking?” Dean put on his most charming smile. 

Cassandra rolled her eyes, unaffected. “No, I wasn't. The Commander was.”

That hit him like a punch to his gut. His smile vanished and he settled for gaping at her like a dying fish on land.

Cassandra huffed. “Don't look at me like that. Just talk to him. He's probably just worried about you.”

* * *

Later that day he found himself at Cullen's door yet again. As usual he stepped through it without bothering to knock, finding the man sorting through the books on the shelves near his desk. It was good to see him doing something other than sorting through mounds of paperwork or barking orders for a change.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” Cullen returned easily. He must have gotten quite accustomed now to Dean's consistent presence and was utterly unfazed by the random arrival. “Did you need something?”

_Yes. Cassandra informed me you had been enquiring about my intentions with Solas, and for some unknown reason I am compelled to set the record straight and inform you that there is nothing special happening there, we are just researching the dreams that I keep having about you every single night._

Dean remained silent, like an idiot.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen walked toward the desk and perched on its edge, demeanor relaxed and open. “Something on your mind?”

“No,” Dean lied. “Nothing. Just – came to see if you fancied a game of chess.”

Cullen instantly brightened at the idea and seemed about to accept, but suddenly his expression saddened.

“Inquisitor, there's – there's something I've been meaning to tell you. Something you should know.”

“Oh?” Dean moved to perch on the desk next to Cullen. 

“I've stopped taking lyrium.”

And that was the last thing he was expecting to hear. “What?!”

Cullen sighed heavily. His shoulders drooped and he looked suddenly very vulnerable. “I stopped taking it when I joined the Inquisition. It's been months.”

“But why?”

“Lyrium grants Templars our powers, but it controls us as well.” Cullen paused, as if debating how much to say. “I cannot allow myself to be used like this, not after what happened in Kirkwall, not when so much now is at stake.”

“But you could die!” Dean felt himself getting worked up. He needed to stay calm. 

“That is a risk I'm willing to take.” Cullen looked at Dean, eyes solemn. “But I will not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to... watch me. If I...”

“Oh, Cullen,” Dean sighed, hiding his face in his palms. If the Commander was surprised by the informal use of his given name, Dean didn't notice. When he could trust his voice again, he said, “I greatly admire you for this. I really do. Forgive me for my worry.”

“As I say, I will not allow this to negatively affect the Inquis-”

“This isn't about the Inquisition, this is about you. I worry simply because you're my friend.” There, he said it. It sounded like it came from a seven year old school kid, but at least he made the effort. 

Cullen chuckled softly beside him. Then, more serious: “Thank you. I consider you a friend as well.”

They sat in silence for a moment. “Does it hurt?” Dean ventured.

“Yes,” Cullen said truthfully. “Though, I will manage. I must.”

* * *

Dean and Cullen spent more time than usual together over the next few months. They played chess, made attack plans, read reports, drank Dwarven wine. Cullen needed a distraction from the Lyrium withdrawal, and Dean needed to see him living and breathing after each night was violently interrupted by the same nightmare. Dark circles were developing under Dean's eyes from the constant sleep deprivation, but if anyone noticed they didn't voice any concerns to him directly.

Save for Solas.

“You look terrible,” he remarked one evening.

“You are wonderfully honest, as usual.” Dean said, half-heartedly glaring daggers at the elf.

“I may have a theory.”

This caught Dean's attention. They had been working together on this for what felt like ages now, with no results. “Oh?”

“Yes. It's... far-fetched, currently. Let me think on it overnight and we can discuss it tomorrow.” He looked closely at Dean. “You need rest.”

“I know,” Dean said, an involuntary yawn escaping just then. “Wish me luck. Who knows, maybe tonight will be different.”

As luck would have it, that night turned out to be very different indeed.

Calpernia stood over Cullen, who had dropped to his knees in agony. “Stop this, please! Please, just kill me!” he begged, words hitching on wet, pitiful sobs. The mage's hands ceased their torturous magic and Cullen allowed himself an incredulous sigh of relief, but he was too weak to stand.

“Cullen!” Dean tried to warn, though as before his dream voice had no power and came as a weak rasp.

“You think I'm done with you, pretty boy?” Calpernia mocked sweetly, running the fingers of one hand through thick blond hair as Cullen fought to control his emotions. She grasped a handful of his hair with enough force to make him yelp, yanking his head back and forcing him to meet her eyes. “I'm just getting started.”

Dean stared in horror as she traced a delicate fingertip along Cullen's stubbled jaw then clasped it, her hand like a demonic claw, forcing Cullen's mouth to open. “That's a good boy,” she said, bending down to place a sweet kiss to his open lips. She soon deepened it, violently assaulting his mouth as Cullen whimpered.

“Maker,” Dean breathed, sick to his stomach, willing this to end.

Finally Calpernia released Cullen's mouth, maintaining her hold on his jaw, his parted lips gleaming wetly from her assault. A blue bottle materialized in her free hand. Cackling, she began to tip it into Cullen's mouth.

“No!” Dean tried to scream, falling to his knees to mimic Cullen's pose. Not lyrium. Not now. Please, no. Anything but lyrium! Not when Cullen has come so far. This – this would kill him.

“No!” Cullen echoed, new tears pouring freely. “Please, not this! Anything but this!” 

Calpernia laughed harder, fingers digging painfully into his jaw to keep him still. The bottle tipped further and lyrium poured into the ex Templar's mouth, the man choking, awful gurgling sounds forcing some of the liquid to leak from the corners of his mouth. The supply seemed bottomless. Liquid poured and poured, Cullen involuntarily swallowing most of it, shaking with the effort to breath. 

After what seemed an eternity, the liquid ceased. Released from the mage's clutches and utterly defeated, Cullen slumped to the ground, curling in on himself. Dean tried to say something, tried to move – anything! - but he was stuck in the dream as an observer, powerless to interfere. He wanted to crawl toward Cullen and gather him in his arms, lie and tell him it was going to be alright. He was going to have to start the battle against lyrium addiction all over again. After all this time. 

“Do you want to die?” Calpernia asked in a parody of compassion, kneeling down at Cullen's side and rolling him onto his back.

“Yes,” Cullen whispered.

“Here you go, my beautiful boy,” Calpernia murmured against his ear, placing that thin gleaming knife into his hand. She kissed him again on the mouth, Cullen's lips slack and unresponsive. Without moving away, Cullen brought the knife gently to his neck and sliced open his throat, blood gushing to the floor as the life drained from him. Calpernia continued to kiss him, lips traveling from his mouth and down the undamaged side of his neck, hands working with fervor to unclasp his armor and reveal his naked chest.

Dean vomited when he finally woke, his already meager stomach contents violently emptying themselves over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He continued to vomit until there was nothing left, not even bile. His eyes swam with tears, from the dream or the violence of his stomach spasms or both. When he was done he curled in on himself, wiping his mouth with the corner of a sheet, taking in pitifully shaky breaths.

He had to see Cullen. Tonight, he just had to.

Staggering down the stairs, he walked down the main hall toward Solas's room like one of the undead. He was sure his eyes deceived him and he'd finally gone completely mad when Cullen appeared outside Solas's door.

“In-Inquisitor?!” he stammered, likely shocked by Dean's haggard appearance.

“Cul-Cu-Commander,” Dean gasped, falling to the ground like a damsel, Cullen somehow managing to catch his head in his lap and preventing his skull from cracking on the hard floor.

“Maker's breath!” Cullen exclaimed, hands hovering over Dean as if unsure of what to do now that the man was in his lap. “What happened to you?”

“I'm sorry,” Dean whispered. “I'm so sorry. I can't. I can't lead the Inquisition like this.”

“Nonsense,” Cullen countered firmly. “You're the best man for the job, nothing will change that.” He smoothed Dean's hair back from his forehead with a gloved hand. 

Gingerly, and with Cullen's help, Dean managed to right himself into a sitting position. He took long moments to collect himself, breathing deeply. He glanced sideways at Cullen. “What were you doing here at this time of night, anyway?”

“As a matter of fact, I was coming to see you,” Cullen admitted. “I ah... I was having a difficult night. The lyrium withdrawal was keeping me awake, so on a whim I thought I might see if you were up as well.” With a tentative half-smile, he added: “Looks like I was correct.”

“What did you – I mean, had you had something in mind?”

Startled, Cullen's stutter made a full appearance. “Oh! I – Well, we could have um... P-played chess or- t-talked on the ummm...”

Dean let out a long breath. He couldn't delay this any longer. Carefully getting to his feet, he beckoned Cullen to follow him. “We need to talk,” he said, leading him through Solas's door.

Solas welcomed them as they came in, not saying a word about the conversation he likely heard from his room.

“Should I be worried?” Cullen asked, picking a chair at random and sitting at Solas's table. Dean and Solas sat on either side of him.

“Quite possibly,” Solas supplied bluntly.

“Ah.”

“Commander, there's something I've been keeping from you,” Dean began.

“What a pair we make, then.” Cullen smiled, an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Indeed! You two are most interesting.” 

Dean glared pointedly at Solas before continuing. “I've been having dreams. Bad ones. Every night. Solas thinks they're more than that – premonitions, maybe.”

“Go on,” Cullen urged, now in advisor-mode. It gave Dean the slight boost in confidence he found he needed.

“They're about you.” Dean allowed Cullen a moment to process that before continuing. “Every night, you die. At first it happened the same way each night. Then one day, it changed. Became... worse.” Dean swallowed, hard. He really, _really_ didn't want to delve into detail. “And tonight...”

“What?” Solas pressed with sudden urgency. “Tell me, what happened tonight? Did the dream change again?”

“Yes. Though, Calpernia was still there.” Dean silently pleaded with Solas not to ask him to describe it. After a long heartbeat the elf seemingly understood. 

“The Venatori leader?” It was clear Cullen was having a difficult time putting these small pieces of information together. “Does she want me dead?”

“Her goals or motivations, if that is in fact even the real Calpernia, are not clear.” Solas leaned slightly forward. “Dean, with what you've just told us, I have confidence I've found the link.” He unfolded a map laying on the table, moving it closer so that the three distinct red markings were easily visible.

“What are those?” Cullen asked, pointing to them with a gloved finger.

“Those are the locations of Venatori camps. The same group of Venatori, in fact, according to Leliana's agents.”

Cullen frowned at the map. “Three camps for the same group? That means they're moving – look, each camp circled here is closer to Skyhold than the last.”

“And the dates of the moves...” Dean trailed off as it all started to make sense.

“Correspond with the dates of the changes in your dreams,” Solas finished. “Each day the Venatori camp moved closer to Skyhold, your dream morphed into something new. Three moves closer to Skyhold, three different dreams.” Solas tapped the map with a finger to punctuate his words. “This is not a coincidence.”

“I won't pretend this is making any sense to me,” Cullen admitted. “How could the proximity of some mages be affecting the Inquisitor like this?”

“We won't know until we go there and see for ourselves,” Dean realized. 

“Wait a minute, no. Let me take some troops and-”

“ _You_ are not doing anywhere Commander, that's an order. We can't risk you getting anywhere near these people.”

Solas nodded. “I'm afraid he is right. We need to investigate the camp, but it would likely be best for you to stay vigilant back at Skyhold. Who knows what could happen.”

Cullen turned wide brown eyes toward Dean. “So _you_ , the one who's been having these dreams in the first place, are going to go into the unknown? You don't know what might happen. This could be a trap!”

“Precisely, because I have never been the victim in these dreams.” Dean had already formulated his plan, and he was going to resist Cullen's pleading face if it killed him. “Solas, would you accompany me to the camp?”

“Of course,” Solas replied without hesitation.

“Excellent.” Dean would have to take Cassandra as well – she had proven herself to be invaluable in combat, and he knew he could trust her with the potential delicacy of the situation. He wasn't quite ready for the rest of the band to know about his nightly Cullen nightmares.

“This is not fair,” Cullen protested. “You would leave me here while you go out and risk your lives?”

“Commander,” Dean warned. He hated pulling rank but the man was so damn stubborn sometimes.

Cullen huffed. “Fine. Just don't go getting yourselves killed.”

* * *

Under the cover of night, Dean, Solas, and Cassandra pressed on toward the last known location of the camp. They had expected to come across a few tents and a camp fire, but nothing of the sorts could be seen in the Frostback darkness. They had been traveling for some time, trudging through deepening snow, and it was getting dangerously cold. 

“There,” Cassandra said, pointing toward a faint green glow.

“Ah, a fade rift! Just what we need.”

“No Inquisitor, look there beyond it. There's a cave.”

Dean peered through the darkness, past the rift, and sure enough there was a small cave mouth just beyond it. The coordinates made sense. 

“That must be the location of the Venatori camp,” Solas said, voicing their thoughts.

That meant closing the rift, first. Dean had become quite accustomed to these, but this one in particular looked much larger. 

“Steel yourselves,” he warned the others. “This fight may take considerable effort.”

“I'm ready,” Cassandra declared fiercely. Solas nodded in agreement beside her. 

“Then let's kill us some demons!”

And once they got closer to the rift, the demons poured out in unrelenting waves. At first there were wraiths which were dispatched of easily enough, Dean killing most of them with his favored chain lightening skill, but then the terror demons came. 

Dean hated those things on the best of days, but here they were coming in unusually large numbers. Solas immediately cast barrier on the party while Dean froze one in place, Cassandra shattering it with her sword. The tactics were sound but before Dean could freeze another, one that was heading straight for Solas, a terror demon leapt at him from underneath the very ground he stood on and knocked him back. The demon screamed, and Dean found himself unable to move.

“Inquisitor!” Solas exclaimed, casting another barrier on Dean while Cassandra ran to his aid. However she was soon stopped in her tracks by another terror demon leaping from the ground beneath her, knocking her back and paralyzing her with its chilling screech.

Suddenly there were too many of them. They were overwhelmed. Dean lay on the ground as a sinking feeling of defeat gripped him – they were going to fail.

And then he saw him – a white knight, magnificent in the night, mighty sword in one hand as the other palm stretched toward the demons. Then, a blinding pillar of light emanated from his hand and the demons screamed in agony, some disintegrating entirely beneath the holy magic.

Never had Dean been so glad to see a Templar, a holy savior in the darkness. Dean was truly mesmerized, and sprang back into action only when Cassandra lifted him bodily from the ground.

As much as he wanted to win the battle, a part of him now wanted to impress while doing so. Barrier in place, Dean summoned his larger than life spirit blade, slaughtering the weakened demon who had him in its grasp just moments before. 

He smirked as he heard Cullen gasp. “Maker's breath!” The Templar exclaimed, pausing only for a second and then promptly cleaving a demon in two.

The tide of the battle had turned again quickly, and soon enough Dean managed to seal the blasted rift.

Cullen grabbed Dean's anchor arm and held it up between them as soon as the rift was closed. “What was that?” he asked incredulously.

“What was what?” Dean grinned, teasing.

The corners of Cullen's lips quirked up, like he was trying and failing to suppress a smile. “Don't be coy. _That._ That blade!”

“Oh, yes, that.” Dean was positively enjoying this. The look of shock and pride on the Commander's face was everything he'd hoped for. “I'm a Knight Enchanter.”

Cullen was positively gobsmacked. “Andraste's knickerweasels!” 

The uncharacteristic exclamation elicited what could only be described as a giggle from Cassandra, and an eye-roll from Solas.

“You were quite impressive yourself,” Dean admitted. “For someone no longer taking lyrium, that entrance was – well, it was, um...”

“Oh, so you like Templars now?” Cullen teased. Actually teased!

Dean beamed at him as Cullen continued to hold his arm, and it wasn't until Cassandra intervened that he finally let go.

“Boys. I said – I said _boys!_ Honestly, this is ridiculous. We have a job to do.”

“Cassandra is right. We must press on,” Solas urged.

“First thing's first.” Dean looked pointedly at Cullen. “Thank you for following us against my explicit orders to stay back at Skyhold, but you need to leave.”

“Not a chance.”

“Cullen, if something were to happen to you-”

Cullen wasn't backing down this time. “This affects me. I can't sit idly by while you fight my battles. Plus, you need me.”

“Don't argue with him, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. “He's the most stubborn man I know.”

* * *

The main passage of the cave was narrow, dark, and impossibly long. Smaller passageways periodically branched off, but the group pressed forward in the most direct line possible. Still, it was nearly two hours of empty silence before they finally began to hear voices.

“Careful,” Dean warned. They pressed on quietly, and then they rounded a last corner and saw them.

A group of about five Venatori mages sat in a circle, and a sense of dread froze Dean in place when he looked upon the woman standing in the middle.

“That's her.” Cassandra whispered. “Calpernia.”

Dean felt Cullen's proximity behind him, and reached back blindly to lay a hand on his armored chest.

“It'll be alright,” Cullen promised, briefly covering Dean's hand with his own.

“We have visitors,” Calpernia suddenly sang, clear voice echoing off the cave walls. “Please, join us, all four of you!”

That crushed any plan of a surprise attack. Dean at the head, he led his group forward and into view.

“Ah, the mage and his faithful Templar.” Calpernia hummed with pleasure. “I knew he would follow you.”

Dean held his head high even as icy fear flowed through his veins. Maybe if Cullen started running back now, maybe if-

Solas gasped beside him. “You are not the real Calpernia. You are an impostor.” At this, the other mages turned hooded heads in surprise toward their leader.

“Clever! Very clever.” Calpernia's form approached the group, observing them like a spider analyzing its prey.

“What are you?” Cullen growled, coming to stand just slightly in front of Dean, protecting.

“That's a demon,” Solas said, urgency playing across his usually serene features. “Fear, if I'm not mistaken.”

Cassandra visibly shuddered. “That would explain the number of terror demons pouring from that rift...”

“Very smart group. Very smart indeed. Nothing gets past you,” the demon crooned, eyes now glowing faintly red as the ruse was up.

“How did you do this?” Solas pressed. “That is not the real Calpernia's body...”

The demon laughed. It was a chilling sound. “It was easy. I took possession of a pathetic mage who resembled the dear leader well enough. Some minor illusion magic later, and here we are.”

“Mages,” Dean called to the group of Venatori, some of whom were now standing. “This is not your leader, this is a demon. Stand with us – help us fight this creature!”

The mages exchanged urgent whispers amongst themselves, but the demon shrieked with glee. “You think you have power here?” It snapped its fingers and suddenly the Venatori all stood rigid, bodies completely under its control. Another snap of fingers and Dean heard Solas and Cassandra cry out as a static cage enveloped them.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra cried out.

Before Dean could move, there was another snap and then nothingness.

* * *

Dean awoke on a hard, dirt floor. Slowly, he opened his eyes, assessing his surroundings. 

He appeared to be in a new chamber of the cave, scattered torches illuminating the large space. He got to his feet, noting his body appeared to be undamaged. 

“Over here,” a voice beckoned sweetly. Dean spun on his heels and forgot to breathe as he took in the sight before him. 

Cullen stood stark still on a raised rocky platform a few paces away, almost like a sacrificial lamb at an altar. The fear demon stood smiling behind him. 

“Cullen!” Dean called, taking a step toward him. Except, his body wouldn't move. Looking down at his feet, he saw no bindings yet his feet wouldn't obey. An invisible forcefield held him in place, unable to move anything but his head. 

“Dean,” Cullen answered, his voice cracking on the name. A similar force seemed to be stilling him.

Without preamble the demon raised its slender hands up to either side of Cullen's skull, and Dean nearly sank to his knees, his stomach twisting in a cocktail of fear and dread. _This can't be happening..._

“Did our beautiful Templar never tell you of his torture, years ago?” The demon's hands began to glow faintly red. “Oh, they nearly broke him. It took him years to recover, though he never was quite the same again.” Now the red tendrils of magic expanded and licked at Cullen's hair. “No matter. Here, I will finish the job.”

“Wait!” Dean cried, desperate to stall. “Just tell me – why are you doing this?”

“Oh, it's simple.” Suddenly the red tendrils pierced Cullen's skull, and an animalistic scream Dean would never forget tore from deep within his throat. “The Elder One commanded me to kill you.” The demon spoke calmly over Cullen's agony. “Without you, there is no Inquisition, and no threat to my Master.”

Tears were now falling freely from Cullen's eyes. “Please, stop! Please!” he begged, voice rapidly going hoarse. “Please!”

“Don't cry,” Dean whispered past the lump in his throat, meeting vulnerable and desperate brown eyes. “Please, Cullen. I will save you.”

The demon cackled. Cullen screamed once more then fell to his knees. 

Damn the Inquisition. Damn Corypheus. Damn the whole world. “Take me,” Dean cried. “Take me and leave him! I'm the one you want! I offer myself willingly!”

“Oh, I will. But not until I have my feast.” The demon closed its eyes in pleasure. “Your fear of losing this Templar has been feeding me for months. Delicious fear.” Cullen's screams ceased, erratic sobs now the only sounds as his eyes slowly began to glaze over. “As I moved closer to you, you fed me more. A delicacy! It was too easy. And this one,” it said, bending to place a kiss to Cullen's hair, “is an exquisite bonus. So much fear in this one. So easy to drink from.”

And with a loud _crack_ the demon suddenly disappeared, faint laughter echoing across the walls. Cullen crumpled to the ground, and Dean lurched forward, the invisible restraints gone. 

“Cullen!” He immediately sprinted onto the platform, kneeling and gathering the man's pliable body in his arms. “Cullen,” he said gently, cradling him as residual muscle spasms racked Cullen's frame. His eyes were open but unseeing, jaw slack and lips parted. Dean smoothed lose strands of blond hair back from his forehead, rocking gently. “Cullen, please. Come back to me. Come back.” He wiped away drying tears with his fingers, traced the outline of his brows. He placed a chaste kiss to the corner of one eye, desperate for a response. “Please.”

“Would you do the honors?” Dean startled at the voice at his ear, clutching Cullen tighter. The demon reappeared with a bottle of blue liquid that made Dean's stomach churn. “Here, make him drink.”

“Never,” Dean growled, but to his horror he found himself reaching for it and grasping the bottle in one hand. Unable to control his body yet again, he moaned as he watched himself bring the bottle to Cullen's lips. 

Cullen's eyes chose this moment to come back into focus, boring into Dean with fear, betrayal. “Dean.”

“Let him go,” Dean snarled at the demon, though his eyes were still on Cullen.

“Oh, I'm not holding him,” the demon said innocently. “He lays there because he believes this is your will, and he will bear it for you.”

“Cullen,” Dean pleaded, now resting the opening of the bottle against his bottom lip. A slight tip, and the liquid would pour into his mouth. “Get up. You're not thinking straight. The demon is toying with us!”

Instead, Cullen closed his eyes and parted his lips further in complete resignation.

Dean whipped his head around and glared daggers at the demon. “Fight me.”

“What ever for?” it asked, satiated like a hog after a fat meal. “I'm nearly done with you. You will both ask for death soon enough.”

“Fight me, and if I lose I will do this willingly. I will elicit more fear for you than you could consume.” It was a lie, of course. Dean would die before willingly harming Cullen, but he had to convince this creature to battle him. It was his only hope.

“Fine,” it said, thankfully intrigued by the possibility of a bigger meal. “Fight me, then, though you don't even have your silly staff!”

The hold on Dean's arm vanished. He threw the lyrium bottle to the floor where it shattered, pulling Cullen briefly tighter against him before gingerly lowering him to the ground. The man didn't open his eyes.

Dean rose to full height, murder in his eyes, and assumed a combat stance. 

The demon only laughed. It erected a shimmering barrier around itself, seemingly to play along rather than out of any necessity. “Go ahead,” it teased. “Throw your fireballs.”

The next thing it did was screech, as Dean summoned his spirit blade and shattered half the demon's barrier in one swing. No one ever expected a Knight Enchanter, not even this demon.

Utilizing the demon's momentary surprise, he swung the blade again, absorbing a small portion of the barrier and destroying the rest. The demon was now left exposed.

And angry.

It dropped the disguise and morphed into its true form, enormous and terrifying, looming over Dean. He covered his ears as it wailed, waves of fear manifested in green light surrounding Dean. Luckily his borrowed barrier kept the worst of it out, allowing his mind to focus enough to electrocute the demon with a heavy thunderbolt from his bare palms.

The barrier was dissipating now, and the foul green energy licked at his skin, chilling his veins. Next he hurled ice at the demon, though his attack was considerably weaker. 

Then a white light invaded his vision as the demon hollered in agony, dropping to the ground. As his eyes adjusted, Dean saw Cullen rise above the crumpled form and plunge his sword deep into its belly. 

The demon gurgled, a black substance oozing from its mouth. Dean summoned his spirit blade with the remainder of his mana and plunged it at its throat, cutting the head clean off its foul shoulders.

Silence filled the chamber, the heavy breathing of two men the only sound. Dean made eye contact with Cullen, and the next moment the man was in his arms, hot face buried in the crook of his neck. Dean grasped his face in his hands, forcing Cullen to raise his head and look at him.

“It wasn't me,” Dean rasped, emotion distorting his voice. “The lyrium. I would never do that. I would never-”

“I know,” Cullen answered, face soft and open. “I know that, now. Dean, the demon was in my head.” Suddenly his voice cracked and his face crumpled.

“Shhh.” Dean pulled him back into the embrace, one arm tight around his waist, the other hand stroking his hair. “You're safe now. It's going to be alright.”

* * *

Cassandra and Solas had rejoined the two men shortly afterwards, having happily murdered the group of Venatori after escaping their bonds. Dean slept for three days straight once they got back to Skyhold. The blissfully uninterrupted sleep he hadn't had for so long helped to restore his battered body and mind, the dark circles under his eyes melting away as his unshaven stubble thickened.

He would have continued to sleep until lack of food and water killed him, but on the fourth day a stray thought of Cullen brought him back to full alertness.

It was Varric, of all people, who stood guard outside his door and foiled his plans. “Ah, the princess has arisen,” he exclaimed to anyone within earshot in the Hall before promptly turning Dean around and marching him back to his room.

“Varric-”

“Have you smelled yourself? Have you looked in the mirror? Do us a favor and have a bath first. Also, eat something. I'll get people to bring a tub up here as well as some kind of sustenance.”

“But Varr-”

“Cullen is fine,” the dwarf promised, snorting at the slightly embarrassed look Dean gave him. “Just get yourself together a bit, first. Trust me kid, you'll thank me later.”

As the sun began to set a few hours later, and after another unintentional doze, Dean was clean, fed, and overall moderately presentable.

Just as he began to formulate his plan to visit Cullen (What would he say? What would he do? This required strategy!), there was a tentative knock on his door. He walked over to it lost in thought, opening it absentmindedly, expecting Varric again. 

He did a double take and inhaled audibly at the site of Cullen. There he stood, in his confident Commander pose, though he bore a bottle of wine in one uncharacteristically ungloved hand and a chess board in the other. He was glorious. Damn, it felt good to see him so alive and well. Dean wanted to speak but couldn't, instead swallowing painfully against the sudden tightness in his throat.

Something in his face must have been too raw, as Cullen's searching eyes widened and his offerings clattered to the floor, bare hands flying to Dean's face and crowding him bodily against a wall. Warm lips crushed against his own, an emotion that was not lust driving his urgent kisses.

“It's okay,” Cullen murmured against his lips, as he moved to kiss his cheeks, nose, chin, forehead. “I'm okay.” Dean realized belatedly that he was crying, sobbing even, Cullen continuing to pepper his face with kisses.

“I'm so glad,” Dean whimpered, eyes closed, savoring the presses of lips. “I'm so glad you're here.” _Not dead._

Cullen kissed his ear and just like that the chemistry changed, Dean groaning and whispering a plea for him to do it again. Cullen sucked an earlobe between his lips, and Dean grabbed handfuls of arse and pulled the man's groin hard against himself.

Cullen groaned, and Dean captured the erotic sound with his mouth, lips finding Cullen's and opening against them, tongue seeking already proffered entrance. Dean tasted him, the man's soft, needy whimpers igniting his groin to the point of pain.

Suddenly Dean placed both palms on his chest and shoved him forcefully away. “That,” he growled, indicating Cullen's feathered armor. “Take that off. Now.”

Cullen stared at his lips, hungry. “I am good at following orders,” he said, voice husky with need. His hands began to unclasp the various components with ease, the pieces falling to the floor at his feet. Areas of flesh were exposed bit by bit, and it was so erotic that Dean's hand had made its way into his own trousers, fisting his cock at the display.

“Maker,” Cullen breathed, now divested of armor, watching him.

“Get on the damn bed.” Dean released himself and shoved Cullen onto the covers, the man falling heavily into the mattress.

They wrestled for position, simultaneously ripping at each other's clothes with an urgency that left no room for romance, no place for sweetness. Yet this was exactly what each needed in the moment, a quick release of all the long suppressed emotions, the pain, the love, all of it. 

Finally naked, Cullen surprised him by winning the wrestle and pinning him into the mattress, capturing both of Dean's wrists above his head in a large, hot hand. Dean caged Cullen's hips between his legs, wrapping them around him and holding on for dear life. 

“Ah!” he gasped as Cullen grabbed both their cocks in his other hand, fisting them urgently. They were both already leaking – this first time was never going to last. 

“Cullen, I can't, I can't,” Dean whimpered, unsure of whether he wanted him to stop or continue.

“Kiss me,” Cullen commanded, and Andraste help him Dean did, biting, sucking, a wet nuisance of desire. “Oh, Dean. Dean!” Cullen suddenly exclaimed hotly against his lips, screaming as he came. 

Dean followed suit as soon as he felt the first spurt of come spray against his abdomen, calling Cullen's name as his body convulsed in a violent orgasm.

It look long minutes for them to come back down, bodies shuddering against one another as their breaths slowly evened out. After a time Dean rolled them onto their sides, a leg and arm draped across Cullen as the other smoothed lazy circles across his back.

“Your hands are so soft,” Dean remarked tenderly.

Cullen hummed a low sound of agreement. “It's the gloves. It's why I wear them.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, yes.” Cullen smirked. “What is life without a small amount of vanity?”

Dean laughed, kissing him lazily on the mouth. Cullen studied him once he pulled away.

“Why _did_ you choose to side with the Templars, all those months ago?” he finally asked. 

Dean shrugged, an effort to appear nonchalant. “Because of you.”

Cullen blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yes,” Dean said earnestly, and damn it all his voice was betraying him again. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were a great man. Better than me. And the Templars were important to you. So, I recruited them.”

“Well, you disbanded them, actually,” Cullen remarked with fondness.

“True.” Dean grinned. “But it worked out for the best, didn't it? We've remade the order, in your image. I have no regrets. Though,” he added, running a finger along Cullen's stubbled jaw, “I do plan on eradicating all Circles and setting mages free.”

“Oh, for the love of...” Cullen groaned, sighing in exasperation. “We can discuss _that_ later.”

“Fair enough.” Dean couldn't stop grinning. He suddenly noticed the discarded chess board and wine near the door. Pointing sluggishly at the items, he put on his most innocent expression and said, “I do apologize about all this Commander - had you come up here for _chess_?!”

Cullen burst out laughing, kissing away Dean's mockingly scandalized expression until he too fell into a fit of giggles. They laughed and kissed until exhaustion claimed them both, falling into a peaceful sleep safe in the security of each other's arms.

The last thing Dean thought before succumbing to sleep was that he loved him, and that he should try to remember to tell him in the morning.


End file.
